


Resistance

by LeilaSecretSmith (orphan_account)



Series: Lieutenant in Chains [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Gore, Eӧnwë was Mairon's friend, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Melkor is Not Nice, Olórin is Mairon's brother, Violence, War Is Not Pretty, let me have some goodness and light, listen this fandom is depressing enough ok, scene fic, that's pretty much all you need to know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LeilaSecretSmith
Summary: Mairon is a little more resistant than Melkor was anticipating. The Valar deal with the aftermath at the end of the Battle of the Powers.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by AzureSkye23's work on FF.net

[ ](https://imgur.com/X1aN6n0)

 

 

Eӧnwë was beyond exhausted by the time he reached the deepest depths of Utumno. Gore and unspeakable things covered his shining silver armor and golden wings. Despite the fact that he was a Maia, and fatigue of body was rare, he felt as though he knew how the Children must feel. His shoulders ached, and his back, and the joining between his wings and body. He paused outside the last door in the long, convoluted corridor he had been clearing and took a deep breath. The stench had long since ceased to sting his nostrils.

He raised his eyes to the heavens. “ _Atar,_ ” he prayed in a tired voice. “Please, give me strength.” He straightened and raised his sword and shield once more, then used his Power to open the door.

The room inside was one of the most horrifying he had yet to encounter. Blood and viscera had dried on the walls in layers upon layers, until the weight had caused some parts to peel away from the stone. The thick, stinking sludge that had been held back by the door oozed out into the hallway, made of blood and ichor and unthinkable things. The smell of rot and festering wounds was strong enough to make Eӧnwë’s eyes water; finally, he gave up and removed the olfactory tissues from his fána entirely.

He stepped into the cold room, shivering as his boots sank into the half-congealed muck. Nothing lept out at him (a blessing, considering how his day had been going). His eyes swept methodically over the wall before him, then to the side, then—

There was a Maia chained to the wall, though it might have been a stretch to call the tattered remains a Maia. The thing was suspended from its wrists, its body little more than bone and stringy muscle covered by torn skin. Eӧnwë drew in a sharp breath, taking a few cautious steps closer. How the creature was still incarnate was a horrifying mystery—a Maia with that degree of damage to its fána would long since have passed into the stage that would permanently damage its fёa.

“Hello?” Eӧnwë said cautiously. “Can you hear me, kinsman?”

The Maia moaned, and despite the gross damage to its vocal cords, Eӧnwë made out a name. “‘lórin.”

“Lórien?” Eӧnwë asked, still advancing slowly. “Did you serve Lórien? I can call your Lord for you.”

The Maia stirred slightly, the tattered remains of its muscles twitching only weakly **,** and repeated its cry more clearly. “Olórin.”

Eӧnwë’s heart stopped in his chest. It felt like the floor itself had fallen from beneath him. _No._ Denial came first. _No, this can’t be_ — _it’s not_ — “Mairon?” he breathed. His sword hand weakened but he had the presence of mind to safely sheathe his blade before stepping forward and reaching out. “Illúvatar, let it not be so,” he said, choking on his fear. His gauntlet-covered hand gently brushed aside the matted hair—the color indistinguishable beneath blood and dirt—to reveal a gaunt, brutalized, _familiar_ face.

Eӧnwë cried out in horror and dismay as he beheld empty eye sockets **,** bloody voids that once had housed brilliant golden eyes. “Mairon!” he said, anguished. He sank to his knees in the muck and wept loudly. “Mairon, what has he done to you!” He panicked and practically yanked on the bond between him and his Lord, yelling with enough mental force that Manwë would not have been able to ignore him even if he wanted to. _MY LORD!_

This was enough to bring the Elder King instantly to his herald’s side. “Eӧnwë!” he said, eyes flashing in alarm, “What—?” The words died when he beheld Mairon’s tattered fána and Eӧnwë, weeping before him.

“Mairon,” Eӧnwë choked out. “It’s Mairon.”

Manwë stepped forward and gripped his herald’s shoulder with one hand, the other pressed over his mouth in horror. An instant later, Estë appeared behind him.

“ _Oh Father,”_ she said upon seeing the figure chained to the wall.

Manwë gently drew Eӧnwë up and away from his friend, making room for the Healer. It took less than a minute for her to evaluate the situation. “This—” she said helplessly, gliding her glowing palms over Mairon’s tattered form. “He was Bound. I cannot… this is beyond even my skill to repair.”

Manwë closed his eyes in acceptance, keeping a grip on Eӧnwë as the herald trembled. “Námo,” he said quietly. The Vala appeared behind them, his presence like a heavy thundercloud, and Manwë turned. “Can you break this Binding?” he asked. Estë, desperately needed elsewhere, vanished.

Námo’s unmasked eyes flicked to Mairon and glowed briefly with Power. “Yes,” he said, striding heedlessly through the sludge and laying one hand over the Maia’s brow. Mairon moaned weakly, his form flickering like a guttering candle as the Binding was lifted.

“Summon him,” said Manwë.

“Mairon,” Námo called with the kind of softness reserved for dying Children. “Come to me. We cannot save this form.”

Mairon shook his head weakly and turned away, delirious. “Olórin. No more,” he rasped. “No more.”

Eӧnwë spoke. “Listen to him, Mairon, it’s alright,” he said with forced lightness even as tears streaked down his cheeks. “Lord Námo isn’t going to hurt you.”

Mairon wavered uncertainly, recognizing his dear friend’s voice but unable to truly comprehend it.

Námo spoke again, coaxing but firm, and knelt. “Come here, little one,” he said, taking the ruined face in his hands. “Feel me, feel my presence, and come to me. You are hurting yourself.”

This time, Mairon obeyed. The brutalized fána faded like a cloud of smoke until all that could be seen by the Ainur present was his fёa. Eӧnwë choked again. When last he had seen that fёa, it had been like molten gold and silver and copper swirling around a star-like core. Now it was nearly all black and shredded so badly that it seemed as netting. The shining core was a weak, flickering thing, stuck through with shards of black ice.

In short, it was the most damaged fёa they had ever seen.

“He did this,” Eӧnwë said, anger creeping into his voice as Námo gathered Mairon into the safety of his Power. “He did this with _purpose!_ ” His voice cracked, and Manwë could do little other than draw him into an embrace.

“And our purpose will be to repair this damage,” Námo responded calmly. “That is all we can do.”


	2. Repairing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's fёa is repaired; two brothers reunite

Melkor was sentenced and the restorative work finally began.

It was nearly a week’s time before the Fёanturi were free enough to begin the delicate task of reconstituting Mairon’s fёa. The damaged Maia spent that week in deep stasis, cradled within Námo’s power as he went about dealing with the captured Maiar and Children’s fёar that had been rescued from Utumno. Many were badly damaged, some nearly irreparably so, but none as badly as Mairon. As terrible as that was, it was also a great blessing: Mairon was not beyond saving, and neither were the others.

When Mandos and Lórien had finally calmed enough not to require their respective Lords’ constant attention, the two met in Irmo’s home. Estë and Nienna were on call, ready to offer aid as needed

Irmo took a deep, bracing breath when Mairon’s brutalized fёa was once more exposed to him.” By the grace of the Allfather, he is not beyond aid,” he said, half in thanks and half to reassure himself.

“No,” Námo agreed. His pale, expressionless Mask melted back into the colorful facial markings that matched Irmo’s, exposing his bright silver eyes to his brother’s sight. “He is not.”

Two full days passed as the Fёanturi reconstructed Mairon’s fёa, bit by careful bit. They were as thorough as possible, but much of the fёa was simply gone, as if it had never been. This seemed mostly to be memories, as the innermost self was both tougher and more flexible. Their work was especially delicate around the base of the fёa, where the sibling bond had once been. Melkor had brutally torn it, but there was hope that the brothers could reconnect naturally, once Mairon began to recover.

Finally, Námo and Irmo could do no more. Mairon’s fёa was much less expansive and radiant than it had been before. The shining core was freed of Melkor’s influence, though damage remained, and the tattered outer layers were stitched together and tucked closely around it, where, given time, they would mend back into a cohesive whole.

Mairon’s consciousness locked itself deep within his core, untouchable even to the Fёanturi, though they were hardly inclined to coax him back into the waking world so quickly. He was, for all intents and purposes, completely dormant.

Irmo sighed, taking the Maia into his Power. “Olórin must be told,” he said.

“Delicately,” warned Námo, tapping his lips in thought. “Their sibling bond was sundered, and if he attempts to reconnect it by force he may hurt both Mairon and himself.”

“Yes. He is with Eönwë, at the moment. I will call them both.” Námo nodded and took his leave as Irmo reached out, gently touching Olórin’s mind. The reaction was swift almost to the point of violence as Olórin appeared before him, a desperate expression on his tired face. Alarmed by his intensity (and the dark circles beneath his eyes), Irmo veiled Mairon and held up a quelling hand.

“Where is he!” Olórin blurt out, his voice thick with panic. “Where is Marion!”

“Olórin—” Irmo started gently, but his tone only seemed to fuel the Maia’s alarm.

“Is he alright? Did, did he— is he—?”

Eönwë appeared, his wings fluffed up in agitation. “Olórin, stop!” he said, grabbing his friend’s shoulders. “I told you, you must calm down first!”

“I have to see him! I have to know!” Olórin argued, though his intensity faded somewhat.

Eönwë spun him around and seized his face, forcing Olórin to look him in the eye. “Then calm down,” he said firmly. “Look at me. Take a deep breath.”

Irmo watched closely, surprised and pleased as Olórin listened to the herald and drew in a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, the rigidity in his shoulders melting away as he did so.

“Are you calm?” Eönwë asked, pressing their foreheads together. “Mairon needs us both to be calm.”

Olórin inhaled and exhaled once more. “I am,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Child,” Irmo said, drawing the Maiar’s attention back to him. “Your reaction is quite understandable, but Eönwë is right: Mairon needs you at your best.”

“Is he… is he still… here?” Olórin asked, fumbling as he tried to find the right words.

“Yes,” Irmo soothed, laying one hand on his shoulder. “He is. Námo and I have done our best to reconstruct his fёa and give him the best chance at recovery, but you must understand that he has been severely damaged. Even when he recovers, he will never be the same as he was before.”

Olórin closed his eyes, his expression contorting painfully at the Vala’s words. “As long as he is still here,” he said in a wavering voice. “As long as my brother is still here, it does not matter.”

“He is dormant, at the moment,” Irmo continued. “But once he awakes, you can begin to restore your sibling bond. I caution you, it may be a long time before he chooses to emerge.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Olórin said fiercely. “I would wait forever.”

Irmo smiled softly, approving, and finally unveiled Mairon. Olórin choked, tears springing immediately to his eyes, but Eönwë made a pleased and relieved sound. “He looks so much better, Olórin,” the herald reassured his friend, gripping the junction between his shoulder and neck and giving a reassuring squeeze.

Olórin said nothing, reaching out toward his brother with his Power. He hesitated, looking at Irmo, and asked, “may I take him?” Wordlessly, the Vala passed Mairon over. Olórin wrapped himself tightly around Mairon’s fёa and sobbed once, shudderingly. “I love you, Marion,” he said, desperately impressing the feeling upon his dormant brother. “I love you _so much._ Please come back.”

To Irmo’s infinite surprise and delight, Mairon stirred slightly, his consciousness rising just enough to whisper “Olórin” before fading back into dormancy. Olórin’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and hopeful as he looked to the Vala for confirmation that it had not merely been his imagination.

“There, you see?” Irmo said. He knelt, reaching out and stroking Olórin’s hair back behind his ears. “Mairon is not beyond aid. He hears you, even now.” The Maia smiled weakly, clutching his brother closer and blinking away tears.

“Now,” Irmo said, his expression turning stern. “You—both of you—” he looked at Eönwë as well “—should be resting. Have either of you slept at all since the battle?” The Maiar looked guilty, and that was all the answer he needed. He sighed, exasperated, and gestured toward the stairs that led to the roof of his home. “Go, sleep. My Lady anticipated this and left you a comfortable nest of pillows out in the light. You may keep Marion with you while you rest.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the Maiar said in tandem, bowing guiltily before scampering up the stairs.

Irmo smiled fondly as he watched them go. “Children.”


	3. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief conversation with Manwë.

Olórin woke with the warm light of Laurelin on his face and his brother’s dormant feä wrapped snugly in his Power. His breath caught as a wave of overwhelming love and thankfulness swept over him. He hugged Mairon closer. “Thank you, Atar,” he whispered in praise, squeezing his eyes shut as they prickled hotly. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

He turned his head slightly to find Eӧnwë sprawled out on his stomach beside him, one wing stretched out over Olórin like a feathery golden blanket as he snored softly. His shining armor, still stained and dirtied, lay in a careless heap where it had been discarded before they slept. He had a little tendril of Power latched lightly onto Mairon—the spiritual equivalent of holding hands.

Olórin had been so caught up in his grief and distress that he had missed Eӧnwë’s physical state, but he noticed it now. The sun-dark skin of his fána was torn and mottled with bruises, stained with dirt and painted with dark russet streaks of dry blood.  _ He never went to the healers,  _ Olórin realized with not a little guilt.  _ He was too busy calming and restraining me. _

The door to the roof opened before he could decide between calling for Estë or waking Eӧnwë and taking him directly to her. Manwë stepped out, quickly raising a finger to his lips and gesturing with his other hand when Olórin made to rise. “Shh, it's alright,” he whispered, gliding over and settling next to Olórin’s prone form. “I did not come to disturb your rest. May I have him?” He reached with his Power for Mairon and Olórin handed him over without a moment’s hesitation. Manwë was silent for a moment, examining the mended feä. Finally he smiled and handed him back with a whispered “he is much better.”

Olórin carefully sat up, easing Eönwë’s wing off him, and shifted over so that he and Mairon were tucked safely within the shadow of the Elder King’s enormous white wings. Manwë hummed and smiled, wrapping an arm around his Maia. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“I did,” Olórin said, relaxing into the breathy drag-and-pull of the Vala’s Power. “Forgive me, my Lord, but in my anguish I neglected to look after Eönwë’s health. He needs tending.”

Manwë reached out and smoothed a few of his herald’s golden feathers back into place. “Tending he shall have, once he awakes,” he said easily. “Estë would have sought him out herself had she thought his wounds too grievous.”

Olórin relaxed fully at his Lord’s words, sighing with relief. “Praise the Allfather,” he said.

“And how are you faring, dear one?” Manwë asked pointedly, drawing Olórin closer until he was pressed fully against the Vala’s side. “Have you been tended?”

Olórin nodded. “Yes, before Eönwë found me. And now... I am as well as can be expected.”

Manwë hummed. “Nienna wants to speak with both of you.”

Eönwë made a sound before Olórin could respond, one hand rising to pat clumsily at the spot the other had just vacated. The herald made another sound, this one confused, and rolled onto his side. Sky-blue eyes cracked open a slit, peering hazily around until they came to rest on the two seated figures. Eönwë mumbled something that might charitably have been interpreted as  _ my Lord  _ and rolled several times until his chest was pressed up against Manwë’s knees, at which point he promptly went back to sleep.

Olórin clapped a hand quickly over his mouth, smothering the laughter that might otherwise have woken his friend. The Elder King looked quite amused as well as he reached out, releasing Olórin for a moment, and pulled the herald into his lap before settling back. Eönwë grumbled briefly, wings flexing, before he melted into his Lord’s embrace and his soft snores resumed.

“You are correct, my Lord,” Olórin said dryly. “He’s fine.”


	4. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some progress as years pass and the ainur wait for the eldar.

A routine was quickly established, mostly at the behest of Estë and Manwë. Every morning Olórin woke and tended to his duties at either his Lord Manwë or his Lady Varda’s side. In the afternoon he went to Lórien, where Mairon was being kept in the safety of Irmo and Estë’s power until he reincarnated. There he would take his brother, walking or reading or sometimes playing with Eönwë and his other friends in an attempt to coax Mairon to the waking world. 

At least once every ten days he would speak with Nienna. Those were the most painful and dreaded days, as the Lady was persistent in her efforts to coax the knots of his rage and hatred loose.

“HE deserves my hate!” Olórin spat his admission with fury and defensiveness one day when they were once more talking about Melkor. They sat beside a little pool, crystal-clear with a floor made up of colorful gemstones. Olórin had rolled up his pant legs and put his feet in the water. He glared down at the light that refracted over his submerged skin. “He  _ deserves  _ it!”

Nienna nodded, crystalline tears dripping from her eyes in a slow, steady rhythm. She held Mairon in her Power, gently skimming a mental touch along the outer edges of his fëa as she listened. “He does,” she agreed, startling Olórin. “But you, my dear one, will destroy yourself if you allow this to fester. Your anger doesn’t hurt him—he would give not a thought to your fury! But you feel it keenly, don’t you? It tears you apart from the inside out, no matter how gratifying it feels in the moment.”

Olórin looked down again, grinding his teeth as he struggled for words. “I cannot simply…  _ stop  _ being angry!” he finally said, twisting his fingers in agitation.

“Of course not!” exclaimed Nienna. “It is not so simple! But you can only  _ begin  _ to release that anger by acknowledging it. Do not feed your anger, dear one, and in time you will be able to do the rest.”

It was a little easier after that. Not by much, but some.

* * *

 

As an unexpected boon, he discovered that Mairon responded best when he was calm.

He was meditating alone in the Gardens, his fëa as calm and still as a mountain lake, when their bond was finally reconnected. It was like a star suddenly burst from the darkness, a thin silver thread singing with joy between them. Olórin gasped, eyes snapping open, and for a moment he didn’t quite realize what had occured. But Mairon’s feelings, muffled and vague though they were, tickled the back of his mind.

Olórin’s joyful mental cry brought Estë, Nienna, and Irmo to him in a split second, followed closely by a startled mental query from Manwë and Varda both. “Our bond! Our bond is rekindled!” he cried. “Look! Oh, look!” 

Irmo took Marion, carefully examining the base of the bond, and smiled widely in relief. “A safe connection,” he pronounced. “Perfectly formed. Oh, well done Olórin! Your patience has yielded a tenfold reward.”

“Do you suppose he will reincarnate soon?” the maia asked hopefully as Irmo quickly inspected his half of the rekindled bond.

“This is a good sign,” Estë said, “but it may still be some time before he does so.”

Olórin wilted a bit, disappointed, but quickly rallied. “Well, this is progress, at the least,” he said with an optimistic smile. “And proof that he  _ is  _ coming back!”

* * *

 

“What’s he feeling?” Eӧnwë asked in a loud whisper, poking Olórin in the cheek. The normally serious and taciturn herald was bent over his friend’s head like the overgrown bird he was, his senses extended curiously toward Mairon.

Olòrin pushed the offending finger away. “Annoyance,” he said pointedly, annoyed. “He’s echoing my feelings again, so  _ stop. _ ” In his unconsciousness, Mairon had a habit of absorbing and repeating his brother’s emotions, especially the negative ones. Olòrin made a point to be happy and content as often as possible. And it  _ was  _ working, to an extent; Mairon had slowly begun to echo happiness and other positive emotions.

“Be happy, Mai!” Eӧnwë cooed playfully, sending a gentle wave of joy toward his unconscious friend. “Wake up! Come play with us!” Mairon stirred a tiny bit, making both maiar’s breaths catch, before he settled back into stasis. They exhaled as one, disappointed.

“He’s almost there,” Olòrin said with slightly-forced optimism. “It’s only been a few years, and he’s already made so much progress.”

They thought of some of the others who had been taken prisoner, some who were weaker and would never fully recover, who would remain as wards of their Lords and Ladies until the remaking of the world; safe and well-loved, but so broken and diminished from the vibrant spirits they had been before...

“Mairon is willful. He’ll be back,” Eӧnwë said with utter certainty.

* * *

 

_ Warmth and… comfort? It was soft and safe and Olórin was there, surrounding him and...pleading? Coaxing? _

_ He should come out. _

_ But there were others too, stronger and all-encompassing in ways that reminded him of… of… _

_ Him. _

_ He shuddered at their mere presence, retreating deeper into the only safety afforded to him, no matter how much it made him ache to be away from Olórin. _

_ He’d come out later, when it was safer. _


	5. Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon takes a calculated risk. Olorin is both thrilled and horrified.

_ There was a window open, high above him. Light streamed into the unfathomable void, a warm, enticing disruption to the velvety safety of his self-imposed darkness. Mairon curled up at the edge of the beam, eyes raised to the pure blue sky hinted at through the gilded frame of the window. _

_ Olórin was out there. Mairon heard him pleading every once in a while, begging his little brother to come out. _

_ Mairon shivered and curled up tighter, tucking his arms close to his chest. It wasn’t safe for him out there, not anymore. He was so small now… _

_ But he missed Olórin so much. He missed being able to hug him. He missed playing Catch-Me and Find. He missed sharing a bed or a chair when things got really hard in the forges and he just wanted to sink into the earth forever. He missed Olórin’s warmth, and the way he kissed his forehead when he thought Mairon was asleep and wouldn’t notice. _

_ He raised his head from his knees, a thought striking him suddenly. _

_ What if he allowed his body to be outside, but kept Himself safe here? Maybe...maybe if his fána wasn’t hurt it was finally alright to come out? Maybe he could undo the spells that hid him within Himself? _

_ He stared up at the window, his golden eyes suddenly full of hope. _

* * *

 

Grass tickled Olórin’s cheek as he stirred, waking slowly from his impromptu nap in the Gardens. He smacked his lips, shifting into a more comfortable position on his side, and considered going back to sleep. A soft, warm body was pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around it without thinking. Mairon was there, and he probably could use more sleep too…

Mairon?

Olórin’s eyes flew open, but his reflexive terror at not feeling Mairon’s fëa in his Power was forgotten in favor of bewilderment at the small person sleeping against his chest.

The small person with bright, familiar red hair. The small person with russet freckles dusting their pale, should-be-sharp-but-are-rounded-and-soft cheeks. The small person who felt like his (apparently now literal) little brother. The small person who stirred and opened unseeing golden eyes.

“Mairon?” Olórin choked out, sitting up and leaning closer. A mental touch proved what he could scarcely believe: Marion had reincarnated himself… into a smaller version of himself? He sat up, pulling Mairon with him. The younger Maia was a limp as a doll in Olórin’s arms, eyes totally vacant.

“Can you… can you hear me, little brother?” he asked tentatively, settling his palm against one soft cheek, but Mairon only blinked. His fëa felt the same as before, quiet and almost totally dormant, but clearly  _ something  _ had changed. 

Still, the hope that had ballooned in his chest popped as nothing sparked to life in Mairon’s blank eyes. Olórin drew in a shaky breath and raised his gaze to the heavens. The leaves on the tree above him became a greenish smear. “It’s alright,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s alright. This is progress.” Cradling Mairon close to his chest, he bowed his laid his chin atop the small, warm head. “I love you, Mairon. I promise you’re safe with me. I swear it. Please…” he squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please come back.”

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/M7Cq8tm)

 

* * *

 

“Oh,” said Irmo, eyes wide as he caught sight of Mairon in Olórin’s arms. “Well… this is unexpected.” He held out his hands and Olórin passed Marion over. “Hello, dear,” the Vala said softly, searching his blank golden eyes. “Just how deeply have you hidden yourself, hm?”

Estë arrived a moment later. “Oh my,” she said, “and here I thought you were exaggerating about his size.”

“He’s never been this small before,” Olórin said, wringing his hands fretfully. “At least, not like this. It is—is it because he was hurt?”

“It certainly could be,” Estë said honestly. A padded examination table materialized in front of her and Irmo carefully laid Mairon down on it. “I now suspect that Mairon has done something to himself that I simply cannot detect.” Her hands glowed a pale yellow as she examined the tiny fána. “He always was rather clever with spellwork, and desperation lends itself to unusual solutions.”

“Done something?” Olórin repeated with alarm. “What do you mean, my Lady?”

“Nothing bad,” Estë soothed, not looking up. “It might be quite good for him, in fact. But…” she paused over his head with a frown, the glow of her hands changing to a gentle blue. “Whatever it is, he’s done it so cleverly that even Melkor’s violations could not uncover it. I can’t find a thing.”

Irmo spoke up, elbow braced in one hand and knuckle pressed to his lips. “Námo and I felt nothing unusual at all.”

Estë sighed and gathered Mairon up, the table beneath vanishing. “Your patience must continue, I am afraid,” she said, passing him back to Olórin. “This may very well be a test to determine whether or not it is safe to return.” The Maia looked a bit nauseous at her speculation. She patted his cheek comfortingly. “Don’t be afraid, dear. If anyone can convince Marion to risk emerging, it will be you.”

Olórin’s lips quirked as he offered a short bow. “I will certainly do my best, my Lady.”


	6. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a renewed bond, perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *endless, high-pitched screaming*  
> Also, AndromedaReise asked for a drawing of Eonwe and Mairon, so there's a really quick sketch at the end.

Eönwë led Mairon around the clearing by the hands, offering encouragement as he tested the small Maia’s reflexes and mobility. Olórin sat nearby on the plush grass, watching his little brother carefully. He moved easily and obeyed gentle prompting—both physical and verbal—but he did nothing by himself. Whenever Eönwë let go he simply stood there, staring sightlessly into the distance.

“You’re doing so well, Mai!” Eönwë cheered, expression alight. Mairon’s tiny hands gripped the herald’s fingers as he toddled quickly along after his friend. “Look at you! You’ll be outrunning Lady Nessa in no time at all.”

When Mairon became tired (his reactions slowing drastically and his eyelids drooping), Olórin stood and picked him up. The little redhead sighed, curling against his brother’s shoulder and falling almost immediately into sleep, one tiny hand tangled in Olórin’s long hair. 

Eönwë, observing his friend's morose expression, patted his other shoulder. “At least he’s incarnate now?” he offered, spreading his hands. “You could take him back to Taniquetil with you.”

Olórin made a face. “No,” he said, “not Taniquetil. Mairon still doesn’t like the Valar and I’m worried that… well....”

“That Lord Manwё feels most like his brother?” Eönwë asked perceptively.

“Yes,” he admitted, shifting Mairon a little more securely against his chest. He sighed, pressing a kiss against the top of his little brother’s head. “I  _ want  _ him to spend time around them, because it’s obvious he’s more scared of the Valar than other Maiar, but...well, we should start slow.”

Eönwë hummed in agreement.

* * *

 

Irmo was surprised by the tentative request that came to him in the barest brush of a mental presence. It was well-timed, since it was his turn to mind Mairon, but surprising. He offered a quick  _ wait a moment,  _ examining his little charge and consulting with his wife in the space of a few seconds.  _ Yes, you may,  _ he confirmed.

A moment later, Aulë stepped hesitantly into the little clearing, blinking in surprise as he saw Irmo waist-deep in a pool with Mairon floating just over his palms. The little Maia’s eyes were vague but contented. “It soothes him,” Irmo explained with a smile.

“I see.” The smith shuffled uncertainly. “Is he—?”

“Recovering? Slowly but surely, yes.”

“Good, that’s...good.”

Irmo rolled his eyes when Aulë didn’t add anything else or move any closer. “Come, come hold him.” The smith blanched at the invitation, but Irmo wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “I would like to see how he reacts to you. He may wake further.”

The possibility of helping his (former?) Maia overrode his hesitance. Wordlessly, Aulë shed his heavy protective gear and boots, along with his usual spartan adornments. He stepped carefully into the pool, clad only in loose trousers and a tight undershirt. Irmo moved back to make room, supporting Mairon with one hand, and gestured impatiently until the smith took his place. Aulë was half a head taller than Irmo, and much bulkier; Mairon’s tiny, floating fána looked that much smaller over his palms.

The healer stepped back and watched.

Mairon’s eyes remained vacant as Aulë stared down. The water of the pool rippled soothingly in the silence. Then finally: “Mairon. My little son.” Aulë’s words were low and choked, seeming almost to escape him unwillingly. “Forgive me for failing you. I should have seen, I—” He stopped abruptly, making a wounded noise in the back of his throat. “Forgive me.”

Irmo watched Mairon closely, waiting for any reaction, good or bad. And there was… a flicker, just a little thing, in the depths of his vacant golden eyes. Better yet, he saw no signs at all of withdrawal. “He is not afraid of you,” he marveled aloud, a bright grin stretching across his face. “My! He must still love you dearly.”

Aulë raised his face, his expression twisted in hope and disbelief. “But I—I  _ failed  _ him, Irmo!” he said. “It was my job to protect him, I swore an Oath!” He looked back down. “And he, the youngest and most vulnerable of my children… I ignored him because I didn’t know what to do with him, and he reaped the consequences. How could he possibly  _ love  _ me?”

Irmo shrugged elegantly, biting back a few choice words. The desperation in his friend’s voice stung him deeply, but he knew better than most that not all wounds can be addressed immediately. “I could not tell you. I only speak what I see.”

Aulë shuddered, his hands trembling and creating ripples around Mairon’s fána. “I must return to the Forges,” he said abruptly.

“But you will come again,” said Irmo, taking his place. It was not a question.

“I—” he stopped abruptly, shutting his mouth with a click. “Yes, I will.” He hastily gathered his gear and disappeared, retreating to the safe numbness of his workshop.

Irmo sighed and shook his head. “Well, little one,” he said turning his attention back to Mairon, who still floated placidly in the water. “I suppose that is something we shall just have to work on, hmm?”

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/rUNgLOl)

 


End file.
